Piece of Heaven
by Serendipity545
Summary: It has been five years. Five Years. Sixty Months. 1,825 Days. Two milestones ago. All that time, passing, running, rushing by since the moment Taylor felt happy. Felt safe. Felt loved.


Taylor: Age 21

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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It has been five years.

Five Years.

Sixty Months.

1,825 Days.

Two milestones ago.

All that time, passing, running, rushing by since the moment Taylor felt happy.

Felt safe.

Felt loved.

Her time on the island, a distant memory, receding from her faster than she wanted, faster than she could handle. She screams out in the middle night sometimes, nightmares of her forgetting it even happened. Forgetting completely about the one place in the world that actually meant something to her.

During the day, she partied with friends, showed up to classes, and drank horrifying amounts of alcohol in minuscule sittings. She had finally reached the big 21 and now could drink to her heart's content in front of others. And soon there were no others to drink with. They all left, all but the people she caught up with for the latest party info.

One night, after coming from a too-damn-loud kegger, staggering against the influence of the alcohol and the weight of the memories that hurt too much to carry, and the weight that she could never even dream of letting go of, she makes it to the couch of her tiny, but luxurious apartment.

Somehow, the TV's on, and the smiling weatherman is about to sign off. Taylor raises a certain finger to him, his cheerfulness getting to her. Then her head pounds. She drops the finger and her head, snuggling into the couch pillow. Then the unthinkable occurs.

A face, with serious eyes and short, curly red hair, appears on the screen. Through blurring eyes, she can see the freckles, and knows, just knows who it is. She turns the screen off of mute, and inches the volume up to where she can handle it. The face is angled towards the anchorman, with a tight smile and hands folded oh-so-neatly in each other. On screen, the anchorwoman asks the face,

"So, Miss Martin, today is the fifth anniversary of your rescue? How does it feel, five years later, to say, "I was stranded on an island for a month?"" The face grimaces, or attempts to smile.

"I feel the same as I did five years ago. Relieved that I can say it. But now, I try to put that whole experience behind me, remembering it plays no practical purpose in my life. All of us have adjusted easily, and put the past behind us."

Taylor wants to scream at the face, pummel it in. No one 'adjusted easily'. Didn't she remember what happened to Ian and Lex and Nathan? How could she possibly say that as if it were true? Remembering the time is the only thing that gets her out of bed in the morning. No practical purpose? Ha! She shuts off the screen and stumbles over to the computer.

She texts her father, her dear sweet daddy who still can't realize how messed-up she's gotten. He still can't accept anything outside the world of the white picket fence. She clicks, and soon, everything is ready. Just before she shuts off the computer, Taylor gathers the courage to email the six people she hasn't talked to in five years. Even though two of them would never open it.

As soon as she finishes typing, this evening's activities caught up with her, and she needs to use the toilet. After emptying her stomach all of the alcohol she consumed, she's much less dizzy, and much more determined. She clicks send, and walks fairly straightly into her room.

She leaves the apartment around five in the morning. She walks down to the little beach that the complex owns and stares out into the ocean. Just like the first day she was stranded, she strips down to her bathing suit and wades out into the water. It is cold and murky, nothing like the clear warm water that she first waded in. She floats, looking at the stars.

The stars are exactly the same as the ones in her safe haven. Tears mixing with the salt water, Taylor realizes that she will always have a piece of her safe place as long as she stays right here. So she does.

Five years and one day after.

A little more than sixty months.

1,826 days past.

Four people stare out at a tiny murky part of the Pacific Ocean from a luxurious apartment. All have heads bowed, and pieces of paper in their hands. They don't offer to share, because they all say the same thing.

On day one thousand eight hundred and twenty seven, they hold the burial in the only place that was right.

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Sorry for all the sadness, it just started to bang on my head until I wrote it out. Read and review please. Serendipity545


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